


The Seventh Symphony

by paulmcfartney



Category: McLennon - Fandom, The Beatles
Genre: !!!, Beatles Slash, Eventual Smut, M/M, McLennon, Mclennon smut, Modern AU, symphony orchestra au, the idea makes me really happy yknow, this is my first full-scale mclennon fic!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:00:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13337889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulmcfartney/pseuds/paulmcfartney
Summary: John is the fresh new conductor of the Liverpool Symphony Orchestra. When Paul is thrown into the front of the bunch as the newly-chosen concertmaster, challenges arise and feelings come out in the wash.





	1. Prelude

It drew him in like a magnet. The quick, mesmerizing movements didn't compare to the sound that the orchestra was emitting, every unique part fitting perfectly in sync with the dozens of others to create a monumental picture that Paul was sure that he'd never experience again. He remembered the very moment crisp and clear, how his ten year old lanky self was sat on the edge of the scratchy, red seat, how his eyes never left the conductor's pointed, pearly white baton and followed it's precise movements to the beat of Dvorák's New World Symphony. His mother had said to him that night that she couldn't help but picture him in the very first violin seat, swaying in time with the captivating notes that flowed so graciously from where the bow met the string. Inadvertently, Paul blushed, scoffing at the fact that his mother actually believed that he'd even make it into a symphony orchestra. Mary only continued, despite his protests, and assured that all of the money that she and his father had put into lessons in the last six years would pay off immensely. Paul was destined for greatness, words that his mother had honestly spoken after a night of struggling with his practice. "You are an incredible boy with unmatchable talent," Mary whispered into Paul's dark head of hair, her gentle hand rubbing in circles over his back. He would hear that same sentence for years and years up until her death. A year went by following the loss of his mother that he couldn't bear to lay a finger on his instrument. It sat gathering dust in the darkened corner of his bedroom for months and months until he finally built up the strength to play again. He remembered it feeling like a breath of fresh air, his fingers pressing down on the strings like he'd never even stopped for just a moment.

Stepping up onto the curb in front of Liverpool's beloved concert hall was, just like years ago, a breath of fresh air. Paul felt his heartbeat pick up, his grip on the handle of the violin case at his side tightening almost inhumanly. At first, he wasn't exactly sure why he was this nervous for an audition. But things had changed this year, being that George Martin had retired from being the symphony's conductor at the end of the last season. This could result in something incredibly positive or just result in some old, bald fart screeching at the orchestra for not playing something correctly. Getting a new conductor was, he had to admit, terrifying. But, he knew that it was for the better. The orchestra was in dire need of a change, and if it meant choosing a brand new conductor to spruce things up a bit, then so be it. Amidst all of the anxiety flowing through his veins when he gripped the copper door handle, deep deep down, he felt a twinge of excitement. It was a brand new era and Paul knew that it would definitely be much different than what he'd grown accustomed to within the past five years.

The sound hit him as soon as he crossed the threshold into the concert hall. It was like a strong gust of wind, the flutes pushing out a sweeping passage, the trumpets blaring out in an impressive fanfare. Paul's ear was inevitably drawn to the sweet sound of his own instrument, the violin. His feed carried him into the audience, following the almost home-like sound of dozens of people warming up with their instruments. Paul couldn't help but break out into a wide grin, a new sense of giddiness washing over him as he laid his case down across a row of seats. His dusty black hair fell in his eyes when he dipped down to take out his violin, a slight tremor spreading through his fingers. He warmed up as he always did, playing several different complex scales and gradually inching his slim fingers up the fingerboard. Paul had always been very reserved around people that he wasn't familiar with, but when it came to playing, he always made sure to make a slight effort to show off. The bow swept across the strings quickly as he played through one of the audition excerpts. Paul could actually feel the eyes of other hopeful violinists burning into his back, but he ignored it and closed his eyes, focusing completely at his task at hand.

A light tap on his shoulder brought him out of his little practice bubble, and he turned to face his good friend, George. George Harrison had been the resident harpist of the Liverpool Symphony Orchestra for some time now, but he hadn't been there quite as long as Paul. The previous harpist was far too talented for a small orchestra like Liverpool's, so she decided to take a risk and move to London. It was for the better, as if she hadn't moved on the two young men would've never met, something that was increasingly difficult for Paul to imagine. "Will you ever stop showin' off?" George gawked, a toothy grin peeking out from behind his lips. Paul rolled his eyes and set down his instrument on its case. "I can't help it, that's just how I've always warmed up," he scoffed. Paul peered around the vast hall, which was decorated with intricate designs on the walls and gold accents on the lights. A grand chandelier hung above their heads, gleaming with the lights it held. Paul watched another violinist play through one of the audition excerpts, and he thought to himself how much she must practice to be able to play with such grace. His eyes floated to a man sitting with his legs dangling off the edge of the stage. He was unfamiliar, but he had to be far too young to be the new conductor. Paul couldn't help but gaze at him in awe, watching his sharp jaw move as he talked to another man in front of him. It was like Paul was in a trance, too afraid to look away as if he might miss something in the man's mannerisms. The mystery man carried himself with the utmost confidence, beaming with crooked front teeth and his bushy eyebrows raising to meet his soft bangs.

Confused, George waved a hand in front of Paul's still face, breaking him out of his trance. "Jesus Paul, you've been here for five minutes and you're already makin' googly eyes at the new conductor." A sharp pang of disappointment reverberated through Paul's chest and down his legs. "That's the new conductor?" Paul marvelled, shocked that the managers would hire someone so...well...young. The harpist nodded slowly, his thick brows furrowed together. "You didn't know? The papers wrote a whole article on 'im last week." Paul could barely listen to George, as he was much too focused on the man that was evidently going to be leading their orchestra through this season. "His name's John something," George continued, unknowingly babbling into Paul's ear. "Sorry, what?" Paul asked, having not properly heard his friend over what he took to be his new distraction for the year. George rolled his eyes and slapped a hand to Paul's rounded shoulder. "If you wanna fuck 'im, just be honest," he spoke mischeivously, the cheeky grin playing on his lips quite obvious even in his tone. "Oh fuck off," Paul scoffed, throwing his best friend's hand off of his shoulder so that he could rosin his bow. George leaned in and repeated himself. "The guy's name is John. I think his last name rhymes with lemon or somethin', I couldn't tell you." Paul smiled and guided the cube of rosin up and down the hair of the bow. "John Lemon, huh? It fits."

A whistle from the front of the hall caught his attention, as well as everyone else's. All sound had ceased as everyone turned to face the manager standing on the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to auditions for the Liverpool Symphony's 2017-2018 season!" Paul didn't understand why Brian Epstein had to speak so formally in front of crowds. Depending on who you were, having a conversation with the unusually proper man sometimes felt like you were talking to a sailor. "I'll just address the elephant in the room head on. This is Maestro John Lennon, the fresh, new conductor for this year, and hopefully for a long while into the future." The surrounding musicians broke out into applause as John Lennon waved awkwardly. Paul's eyes flowed him as he stood up next to Brian. "It's a genuine honor to be able to work and create with you all this year," John spoke carefully, his voice warm and rough. After the applause had eventually subsided, John continued on, seeming almost unsure of what he would say next. "This is gonna be a brand new experience for all of us. I hope none of you are nervous for auditions," he trailed off, chuckling. 'Of course we're all nervous, you nit,' Paul thought silently. John's eye inadvertently caught Paul's, causing the violinist to fail embarrassingly at suppressing a heavy blush that spread over his skin. Paul could swear that this man's eyelashes must he at least a few centimeters long, framing his chestnut eyes perfectly as he held their unexpected gaze before continuing. "I think that were having horns audition first...is that right?" He turned to Brian, who nodded in reassurance.

Paul watched in his peripheral vision as various french horn players gathered at the front of the stage. His main focus was undeniably on John Lennon, who had just recently dug his phone out of the pocket of his black slacks. John's legs were slim, making him seem like he had to be at least six feet tall. He wore a plain white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the slight dusting of hair on his lower arms. Paul barely even noticed as George shook his head with a grin and walked back to his harp in the corner. Much to Paul's disappointment, John was soon led away by Brian and Linda, the co-manager and librarian for the orchestra by default. Paul would see him again in only a little bit and when he had broken out of his trance, he immediately began almost sawing at his violin, determined to well exceed everyone's expectations. That third chair position he'd just barely snatched up last year wasn't at all appealing this time around. Paul was set on sitting in the concertmaster's position, replaying his mother's words over and over again in his head as he swept through the audition passage they had chosen in Respighi's Pines of Rome.

And when the time came that the violinists were to go into auditions, Paul felt a slight tremble course through him. Music in one hand and his precious instrument in the other, he trailed through the corridor with all of the other hopeful violinists. Jane, his close friend and occasional stand partner, had caught up to him before they entered the holding room. "What do you think of the conductor?" Paul found himself asking, desperate to find out whether or not he was the only one feeling strange when he'd look at him. "I don't think I know enough about him to form a valid opinion, you know? I mean, Ringo had talked to him for a bit 'cos he'd gotten here early. He said that he's nice, and that he's really enthusiastic about his job. That's about all I got out of him," Jane explained as they sat down. Paul nodded along to her words. "He looks incredibly young, though. Either he's our age, or I need to somehow get him to tell me about his skincare routine," she giggled, fiddling with her instrument's strings to try to improve the tuning. Paul chuckled, glancing over his excerpts and playing through them in his mind. "George thinks that I have the hots for him," Paul muttered dully, earning a scoff from the copper-haired girl to his right. "Of course he does. This happens sooner or later every year." Paul nodded with a grin. "God, he just never gets it right. And besides, it'd be unprofessional to date someone who's nearly your boss."

Soon enough, Paul's name was called, and with one final nervous glance to Jane over his shoulder, he was led down the narrow corridor to the audition room. They all sat in a line behind a long, wooden table, smiling politely at Paul as he crossed into the small room. "Mr. Lennon, this is Paul McCartney. He's been with the orchestra for the past five seasons," Brian informed John as he stood to shake the hand that Paul so timidly offered him. John's slightly squinting eyes ran up and down Paul's figure briefly before gripping his slightly clammy hand in a gentle handshake. Their eyes met again, but only for a moment, and Paul couldn't tell if his heart sped up out of his anxiousness, or because of the fact that this man was actually touching him. "Pleasure," John smirked with his crooked grin, seemingly sensing Paul's nerves. Afraid that he'd blurt out something stupid, Paul only smiled and nodded at John's greeting, wanting this all to go as quickly and smoothly as possible.

When he started to play, Paul could feel all of his worries and burdens melt away in the sharp movements he made with his bending bow. His eyes closed momentarily, complete immersing himself in the electrifying feeling that the music gave him. Paul was oddly aware of John's eyes glued to his every move. What made it strange to him was that Paul didn't mind it one bit. If anything, it spurred him on even further. The first excerpt went out with a bang, and Paul found himself brimming with confidence, something that he normally lacked terribly. He didn't even take one peek at the table of judges before moving onto the second passage, the slow and beautiful one. Paul made sure that he used just the perfect amount of vibrato, and dug into the strings with his bow to drag out the best possible tone that almost seemed to sing in a way. He swayed along with his bow, dipping in passion to pull out the heavily accented group of notes that he'd worked so tirelessly on in private. Just as soon as it began, it was all over, and he lifted the hair from the string and beamed proudly. Paul turned to John, Brian, and Linda, and uttered out a light "Thank you," before gathering his music and walking out into the corridor.

John had to admit it, that he hadn't at all expected to be this impressed by an audition. That violinist named Paul had nearly taken his breath away by the sheer talent that he possessed. And he was so goddamn humble about it that it almost pained John. He turned to face Brian and Linda, his bushy eyebrows raised and thin lips curled upwards in an ecstatic smile. "I think we've found our new concertmaster," John shamelessly blurted out, scrawling down a scratchy note beside the Paul boy's name on the paper. "You think so?" Brian questioned, the tone of his voice heightened in surprise. John nodded enthusiastically, his heart beating wildly in his wiry chest. "He's been with us for five years now. If anyone deserves the spot, it's without a doubt him," Linda agreed, nodding off in the direction of the doorway that Paul had just exited through. "How old is he?" John asked Brian, who replied with a half-chuckled "Twenty-two." 'Jesus--he's only twenty-two? Really?' John thought, shocked. He wondered in awe how all that talent could've possibly been crammed into a guy that young. For the rest of the auditions, John found himself wishing that he could've just listened to Paul McCartney play for hours and hours on end. He knew that he'd done incredibly well, judging by the wide smile that had spread across his round cheeks whenever he'd caught John's eye before leaving the room. God, whenever he was playing, it was like the space was brimming with sparks of energy, like Paul almost radiated positivity and talent and sheer joy.

For John, the decision was so incredibly obvious that he was actually appalled when Linda wanted to double-check with his choice after all of the violins had finished auditioning. To be frank, out of all of the other hopeful violinists, no one had even come close to comparing to Paul's skill and grace with the instrument. After the final decisions had been made and the papers had been signed, John went home, unable to drive Paul from his thoughts. Little did he know that just a few blocks away in his own quiet flat, Paul McCartney sat curled up on his couch, still giddy from his aced audition. Paul told himself that it was just left-over excitement from his brilliant performance, but deep down, he knew that his racing heart wasn't just caused by the music. It was the rough, almond-eyed conductor that really did him in, though he didn't dare admit it to himself out of slight embarrassment. Paul looked forward to the first rehearsal not just for the music, but because he was absentmindedly beginning to crave that euphoric feeling that John Lennon gave him when he caught his eye.


	2. L'Inverno

Paul had been expecting the e-mail that came from Brian two days after the audition. It was the yearly bullshit that he sent out a few days before the first rehearsal, including the attendance policy, concert dates, and other minor details that Paul could honestly recite by memory if someone had asked him to. He'd been through this type of thing countless times, but this time was significantly different than the others. An excited thrum broke out in his chest, and he found himself smiling lightly as he scrolled through the e-mail on his phone. Paul caught his bottom lip between his teeth and his mind drifted to the first rehearsal that upcoming Saturday. 'God, I wish he's good,' he thought to himself, imaging John's arms flowing languidly as he conducted.

When the first rehearsal came upon them almost a full week after auditions, Paul found himself shamelessly looking forward to working under the baton of the young, frighteningly handsome conductor. He hadn't even remembered about the seating list when he'd dropped his violin across a row of seats in the audience of the concert hall. George had immediately scampered over to him in a frenzy.

"Look at the seating list," he breathed.

Paul didn't waste a second in breaking into a near-sprint to the corridor in the front of the building. The few people surrounding the list turned to Paul when he arrived on the scene, and so graciously let him through so that he could read the news for himself.

"Fuck," Paul muttered in absolute disbelief. The paper pinned to the corkboard read, "Concertmaster: Paul McCartney," in bold, black lettering at the very top. George slapped a congratulating hand to his friend's shoulder and squeezed as Paul continued to stare at the paper. He couldn't stop smiling, his emotions overcoming him as he turned to bring his friend in for a tight hug. There was a dull, yet electrified ache overcoming him when his thoughts fell onto his mother. Paul closed his eyes as he buried the tip of his nose into George's neck in a tight hug. In a silent mantra, Paul found himself repeating over and over again in his mind, 'I hope I've made you proud. I hope I've made you proud.'

John watched from a distance as Paul held the harpist close in a friendly embrace. He couldn't keep himself from cracking a slight smile at the sight of the dark haired violinist so incredibly ecstatic. The moment bore down on John like a boulder. It hit him right then, that he was conducting an actual symphony orchestra with a very promising, new concertmaster that had a future as bright as the stars. John was deeply thrilled that he'd gotten so lucky with this particular group fresh out of university. Most conductors struggled to find a job right after school. But, John had seemingly hit the jackpot, somehow snagging himself a well-paying conducting job with an incredibly talented group of individuals, the majority of which being well older than him. Not to mention, he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit attracted to Paul, as he noticed that nearly everybody did. Gazing at the younger man from the opposite wall, he wondered if he were really as straight as everyone said he was. The week prior, Brian had jokingly informed John of Paul's "immovable heterosexuality," after it had come up in casual conversation, and then proceeded to tease him after telling him that making a move wouldn't be very useful. Quite frankly, John couldn't have cared less in that moment. He had to admit that Paul was stunningly gorgeous, and that if they weren't in this awkward sort of situation, he might've even asked him out! John cursed himself for not having met the younger man earlier, for maybe their newly-sprouted relationship might've been something much more.

The clock struck ten o'clock that Saturday morning, and the members of the brand new and refined Liverpool Symphony Orchestra had gradually fallen into their designated seats onstage. The music for the upcoming Fall Concert was placed on every stand in front of their eager eyes. Danse Macabre by Camille Saint-Saens sat front and center, Paul giving Jane an endearing look of excitement. The pair had, once again, ended up as stand partners within the front row of the strings circling around the conductor's stand. He wasn't surprised, as they were nearly neck and neck with their abilities. Paul was thankful that his good friend of almost five years was still seated next to him, as he wouldn't have felt nearly as comfortable otherwise. The newly-appointed concertmaster skimmed over the waltzing song, which was basically just once giant solo on his part. The only other song on their stand was a piece by Wagner, Isolde's Liebestod. Paul had vaguely remembered this piece, though he wasn't sure how. He was so puzzled by the familiarity of the piece that he didn't notice as John stood for the very first time at the conductor's stand. When he'd finally snapped out of his thoughts, Paul's eyes raised from the yellowing sheet music to trail up Lennon's trim figure. The young conductor wore a plain white t-shirt with a loose, gray cardigan draped over his torso, as Liverpool was just beginning to grow chilly while Autumn approached. Dark denim jeans shaped his legs graciously, and Paul was absolutely appalled with himself when he'd caught his eyes glued to the man's slightly rounded arse.

The pointed toe of Jane's shoe dug into the side of Paul's calf, breaking the trance that he'd somehow fallen into. Paul's head whipped around so he could properly face Jane, inevitably blushing when she wiggled her eyebrows with a smirk. She knew that he'd been sneaking little looks at the man in front of them, and he didn't doubt that he'd be relentlessly interrogated about it following rehearsal. He couldn't help but smile nervously, his eyes glued to his lap, as John began to speak.

"In all honesty, I never thought that I'd be able to bullshit my way into conducting an orchestra," he admitted, a light smile playing on his thin lips when a shocked collective giggle arose from the surrounding musicians. That remark didn't fail to catch Paul's attention, and he laughed along with his fellow members. John chuckled, seeming nervous.

"God, and the fact that I've just finished up at university makes it all the more shocking." He scratched through his short, auburn hair.

"How old are you?" Jane suddenly questioned, her eyes curious with a sense of mischievous wonder as she stared up at John. Paul's chest tightened in embarrassment that his friend would ask such a thing, and even so suggestively at that. He chuckled again and glanced down to his flattened stand. "Twenty-three, going on twenty-four in October. I must seem like a teenager compared to that old fart that just retired," Lennon joked, half-whispering the very last sentence. Paul felt terrible for giggling, because he'd actually really liked George Martin. John's comment had come across as slightly rude, and Maestro Martin hadn't worked all of his life just to be shat on as 'some old fart.'

There was an awkward silence before he spoke again. "I've only given you all two pieces to work on until Wednesday, but I'll have more to give to you by then," John spoke slowly while leafing through one of the scores on his stand. "One of which is Danse Macabre for symphony orchestra, written by Saint-Saens. And y'know, I'm sure that you're all familiar with it, there's several solos in the piece that go to our lovely new concertmaster," he fawned and pointed a hand in Paul's direction, causing the younger man to blush profusely, uncomfortable with the attention. John stepped off to the side, momentarily locking eyes with the flustered boy to his left. It was odd. The feeling that rose in Paul's chest was without a doubt flattery, but still contained flecks of anxiousness. John had called him lovely.

"With that in mind, let's tune and then we'll go right into sight reading the Saint-Saens." He nodded in Paul's direction, and Paul cautiously stood in front of the orchestra. Anxiety flowed through his veins and made the blood rush in his ears, his head still reeling at the fact that the beautiful new conductor had just referred to him as lovely. Paul had even almost tripped on the small step up onto the box which John had been standing on only moments prior. He gathered himself together and turned to face the center of the orchestra. The principal oboe player in the wind section squeaked out a steady A for her fellow woodwinds, who tuned to her accordingly. Next came the brass, who never failed to make Paul feel like a brick wall had hit him whenever they tuned. Paul felt terrible for the very back row of cellos, as the trombones were positioned directly behind them, blaring out unrelentingly. Finally came the strings' turn, and Paul joined in on the principal oboe's note. The heavenly sound floated from each individual instrument, filling the concert hall with an unmatchable electricity. John's eyes were glued to the younger man who stood in his place on the conductor's block. The dark-haired man's eyes would flutter shut as he focused on putting himself in tune. It felt strangely similar to being in a dream, watching Paul stand completely straight with his bow dragging flowingly across his strings to check them one last time. One would imagine that playing the violin would look awkward, the lower end of it being shoved between the jaw and collarbone; but somehow, Paul made it look almost angelic in a way. John stood, arms crossed and brows furrowed in concentration as he focused completely on Paul. His mind wandered to the thought he had earlier before rehearsal had begun. Shamelessly checking him out, John knew that he definitely would've asked Paul out if they hadn't met under these circumstances.

The feeling that John had deep down in his chest was odd, something that he'd definitely never experienced before. It was almost as if someone, namely Paul, had physically reached inside of his chest and tugged at his poor heart. The very sight of the slim man before him made him feel like he was floating. John took the short time to absorb every miniscule detail of his face; how the shape of his jaw curved sharply against the chin rest, how his clean brow thinned out just below his porcelain-colored temple, and the way that his full lips curved upward when he returned to his seat. John was frightened. He definitely shouldn't be having those types of feelings for the doe-eyed man. It felt almost like a magnet was pulling him towards the lanky violinist, and John would be happy to oblige and kiss the tiny little smirk off of his face at any given moment. But it was wrong; it was so incredibly wrong. He cursed himself silently for even allowing that thought to breach his mind. Maybe things could have been different.

It was like the conductor was frozen in his spot. He didn't move until several seconds after the room had gone dead silent again, until he finally seemed to notice the dozens of pairs of eyes locked onto him in curiosity. John snapped out of whatever trance he was in and steadily returned to his spot on the conductor's block, evidently still in a daze. "Alright, let's uh, let's just get right into it, shall we?" John croaked, his voice breathy with a slight shake. Paul watched as the man lifted his arms, the slim fingers of his right hand wrapped daintily around the base of his pearly white baton. He could swear that he even saw a slight tremor in John's stance before he began flicking his wrist to the steady rhythm of Danse Macabre.

The music filled the vast hall once more, the orchestra moving along unwaveringly with the tip of John's baton. The song was very light at first, the strings joining the ringing of the piano in a soft introduction for what was to come. Paul focused on his music, counting along carefully to make sure that he wouldn't miss his first entrance. The dynamic marking read fortissimo, and Paul was prepared to make the most of it, wanting desperately to impress the rest of the ensemble. Although, he knew deep down that it wasn't just about impressing the orchestra. He was all too stubborn to admit that this moment was just about impressing John, about showing the new conductor what he could really do, about convincing him that he wouldn't regret ranking him first above all of the other incredibly talented violinists trailing behind him.

When the time came, Paul raised his bow to the strings and dragged it sharply across his instrument. His stomach dropped in absolute fear, shocked that he'd actually forgotten to read the bolded lettering typed across the top of the sheet music. "E string must be tuned down to E flat," it read, the words now jumping out to him, definitely not like they had before. John's arms seemed to drop comically to his sides as he turned to face the embarrassed concertmaster, whose face had completely drained of all color when he realized his crucial mistake. Paul's eyes were bulging out of his skull when he began to hastily tune his E string down to an E flat, just as the paper read. The rest of the orchestra had stopped playing in the meantime, and the majority of the other musicians stared at Paul and tried to hold back their giggles at his utter embarrassment.

"The E string should be tuned to an E flat, Mr. McCartney. I gather that you've figured that out by now," John spoke in a posh London accent, making a few of the women quiver in their seats with laughter. Paul could've sworn that he was dying. His chest was tight as he regained the color in his round cheeks, which came back as a fiery red. John gave him a light smile and a teasing wink before lifting his arms back up to their previous position. Paul took a deep, cleansing breath and tested his stupid bloody string to make sure that he actually had it right this time.

The orchestra once more began marching along gently to John's steady tempo, bringing out the sense that this was the calm before the storm. When Paul finally came in, it was like nails on a blackboard, the diminished fifth that squealed from his strings making even himself cringe in slight disgust. Nevertheless, he continued reading the music, trying his best to play what was written despite the strange tuning that he was going to need lots of time and practice to get used to. The music eventually escalated into something that was much easier to listen to. Paul rested for a few moments until he came back into the piece in a flowing melody, sliding his skilled fingers up and down the fingerboard.

A wide smile began to form on Paul's face as he played through a staccato section of his solo. He took a short break from the dotted notes on the page to glance up at the nearly bouncing man in front of him. John stood on his toes, jumping along to the beat of his baton, almost completely immersed in the half-assed job that the orchestra was doing at sight-reading this piece. Though, Paul could tell that John saw potential in them with all of this. He seemed genuinely happy, his thin lips curling up in a thrilled smirk as he hopped along. The sight made a strange, light hearted feeling bubble up in Paul's chest, followed by a heavy, weighing feeling that all too soon overwhelmed him. He knew that he shouldn't be feeling these sorts of things for his boss of all people. His mind floated to George, to what he had said nearly a week ago. Paul wasn't quite ready to be honest with himself just yet, but if he were, he'd swear that the twinkle in John's excited gaze seemed to grow even brighter whenever their eyes locked, making Paul's chest begin to tingle uncontrollably. 

 

Paul had just about had it with himself, for this was the second time he'd cocked up his solo. He'd missed his next entrance, earning another light kick from Jane to his left, and his chest tightened again in the now very familiar feeling of embarrassment. God, was he miserable, all tied up in his emotions like a little girl. The fact that his twenty-three year old conductor was making him feel these sorts of things was astonishing, especially since it all happened so fast. And when he looked at him straight in the eyes, Paul was almost ready to up and leave, as this was the most distracted he'd ever been in the short twenty-two years of his life.

However, this had to be the first time that he didn't actually mind being caught this off guard. It bothered him, sure, but if it meant getting extra attention from John Lennon, it definitely had to be worth it. Christ, whenever their eyes met, it was like a spark of electricity shocked through Paul's chest and down to his rapidly-working fingertips. He genuinely wondered if John was feeling this too, if he too had little pinpricks of energy nipping at his skin just as Paul had. He cursed himself for letting his mind wander like that, for actually giving himself false hope that John really was feeling these things just as he was.

And when John leaned over the quivering boy's shoulder to look at his music, Paul was caught somewhere in between almost melting into a puddle and screaming the entire fucking block down. Feeling him right there against him was something that he'd been craving, which he'd realized soon after John shifted back to his previous position on the conductors' block. Paul remembered the man's long fingers brushing against his when he had steadied himself against the metal stand that he and Jane were sharing. Paul even got to the point where he'd almost convinced himself that that moment hadn't even been real, that it was all only a figment of his roaming imagination. But it was the sheer closeness of the other man that convinced him otherwise, the relaxed exhales of his cool breath that ghosted Paul's collar and caused him to shiver.

Getting through this season was going to be rough, considering that his shamelessly handsome conductor didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon. Paul half-wished that John Lennon would just vanish into thin air, never to be seen again by Paul or anyone else. The other half of him secretly prayed that John would press him up against a wall and claim his mouth as his in a heated fit of passion. Paul wouldn't dare say it aloud to anyone, not even George, because God knows what his two cents worth about it would be.

They sat in a coffee shop a few blocks from the concert hall, fresh out of the first rehearsal with the new conductor. At first, Paul, George, Jane, and Ringo all sat in silence around the rustic, wooden table, quietly sipping on their still-scalding drinks while waiting for someone else to make the first move. "The weather's nice today," George spoke timidly, smirking to himself and knowing that the other three were about to burst out into a frenzy of exclamations and opinions about their new conductor. Jane giggled and turned to Paul with a smirk plastered over her cherry lips. "Paul wouldn't know. He was much too busy fawning over Mr. Lennon," she teased, bringing the rest of them into a fit of hysterics almost.

"Jesus Christ, I'm seated how far in the back and I could still feel the sexual tension radiating off of you two," George scoffed, nudging a blushing Paul with his bony elbow. Paul couldn't contain the heated flush that spread to his cheeks in mortification. His face was on fire, at least it seemed. His grip on the poor coffee mug tightened, and he squeezed his legs together from the tension. "There's nothing there, honest," Paul argued lightly, not really wanting to indulge George in some silly argument over their boss. George surprisingly only wiggled his dark eyebrows and continued to sip on his coffee in silence.

"I don't think that it's a bad thing if you feel something for 'im," Ringo chimed in suddenly, his calm, drooping eyes boring into Paul's in honesty. "If anything, it's great, 'cos you've started to show a genuine interest in somebody." All eyes were on Paul, and for once in the last hour, no one was being suggestive or hinting at something inexplicably dirty happening between him and John. Jane rested a gentle hand above Paul's knee in support and nodded. "It could be good for you, Paul," she added encouragingly. Paul looked to George, who was still shockingly holding his tongue.

"I agree with you lot," George confirmed, nodding in Jane and Ringo's direction and smirking. "We wanna see you happy, Paul. Maybe look more into it and see where things go between you two. There's obviously a spark of something there, don't you feel it?"

Fuck, Paul could feel it alright. It was so incredibly overwhelming that it clouded his senses and played with his mind. Paul didn't say anything, or maybe he couldn't. He only shrugged along timidly with their suggestions and stared down at his lap in front of the wooden table. Fighting his now extremely persistent feelings probably wasn't the greatest idea of all time, but it seemed to Paul that it was his only choice at this point. And God, picturing John grinning and hopping along to the beat of the music he pulled out of everyone was like replaying some sort of hazy dream over and over in his head.

He treaded back home deep in thought and collapsed on his couch. Paul's mind was whirling with different scenarios and possible outcomes of all of this. He laid face down and groaned exhaustedly into the warm pillow at the opposite end. He didn't doubt that there definitely was something going on inside of him when he looked at, or even thought of John Lennon. A small part of him was incredibly close to convincing him that the conductor felt the same, that he also felt that strange fluttering feeling in his chest when their eyes met. The most painful aspect of it all was that he knew that there couldn't be anything done about it. He wouldn't dare to think of John in that sort of way any longer, and he mentally cursed himself for even letting himself fall into this mess.

Paul didn't move for the rest of the day. He was much too exhausted to be bothered with the effort that walking took, and stayed laid up on the sofa in a bundled heap of blankets and sighs. George had texted him several times, but he didn't reply, as he was far too occupied trying to pry that near-heavenly man from his thoughts. In the end, nothing seemed to work, and Paul drifted off into a nap with the man's golden, crooked grin cemented in his brain.


End file.
